Sacrifice
by akane.monokuro
Summary: Francis knows that Arthur does not love him. Francis thinks that Arthur is 'too perfect', and no matter how much he loved him, he hated him all the same. Francis decides to just leave the Englishman alone. Besides, Arthur didn't need him, right?
1. Sacrifice

Sacrifice

_Francis loved him. He loved that damned Brit. He really didn't understand why, though. He didn't really have anything special. It's not like his traditions are all that special, nor his style. Not even his personality, not even his looks that triggered his heart. It's just...Arthur Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland is the one he loves. The one that set his heart into a million fireworks, and nothing else._

_ It killed him inside, knowing that the Brit-Arthur Kirkland-hates him. Of course, he did. All the fights they had, all the hatred they shared, all never seemed to go away. It stayed there, haunting the Frenchmen deeply. It really did make him want to die. Maybe this was how Arthur felt whenever he talks about these 'ghosts and spirits' in his place. It even wanted to make him die..._

_ Maybe it's time to...finally confess to him. Yes, he needs to end this 'war', to stop this battle. Please, just let it stop. -No, he can't. If he confesses now, what would that Brit say? He would only hate him more, of course! That damned, stupid Brit, why did he need to make his love life so complicated!?_

"Francis, wake up! Stop daydreaming in these meetings, we need everyone's opinion!" Ludwig exclaimed, snapping Francis wide-eyed and staring at the room blankly. Of course, the man sitting next to him, Mr. Kirkland chuckled at this. Even Antonio and Bella were sneaking a conversation about how empty he seemed lately.

"Je suis désolé," he apologized, and let a small smile appear on his face. After this, he didn't even look Arthur's direction. After being woken up in a terrifying manner by the German, it turned out to be more embarrassing to be singled out. "It won't happen again, Monsieur Beillshmidt."

That would obviously be a lie. Leaning back on his chair, he listened to the other conversations going on. Everytime Arthur had suggested an idea, he bit his lip to talk back to him. If Mr. Kirkland always complained to him about always disagreeing with him, just because he hates him, then he will stop.

...Wait, what were the others talking about again? Global warming or global economics? He could care less... He knew that Ludwig was going to end up helping him with his money anyway. In fact, he was about to help control everyone's money in Europe. Except Mr. 'So-Called-Perfect-Kirkland'. Just nothing about him is perfect.

"...and I will take care of Arthur's debts!" Alfred exclaimed, his face brightening with a oblivious glint in his eye. That bit of conversation triggered the Frenchman's ears.

As Francis was just about to reject, Arthur spoke out on his behalf, "How can you even pay for your own debts, git? You are already in a recession, and you are only going to go bloody bankrupt soon."

"...Were you going to say something, Herr Bonnefoy? You look like you had to say something," said the German, a serious face looking even more annoyed. Francis simply shook his head, whispering the word, "Non," in shame. Again, this was quite embarrassing. The Brit simply rolled his eyes, both at the American and the Frenchman.

Francis' arm was nudged by the person by his left, the caring Spaniard, with question in his mind. "What's wrong, Señor Bonnefoy? You seem off," he whispered.

Had it been this obvious? Had his behavior really been noticeable? "Non, je vais bien, merci. Just a little...tired, I guess," he lied. This made Antonio nod his head and turn away, still holding his doubts.

Finally, this useless meeting was over. "Good job, everyone. For the first time, we've actually accomplished something," Ludwig stated, walking out. Feliciano was already right behind the German, and he didn't seem to mind. Or, maybe he didn't seem to care about his lover.

After that, Alfred was walking out, looking as if he was pestering Arthur...again. Arthur seemed to put up with him quite easily...but, whenever he and Arthur argued, the Brit would just try to punch him, or make matters worse. Or...maybe it was his own fault? He packed his things in his briefcase, sighing deeply in thought. As the two walked out, the pair didn't even turn his direction. He was just...going to lay down at home.

_I would do anything for you to make you happy, to make you love me... Even if it means I have to go. I'll say 'goodbye' if I have to._

Francis felt _miserable_. He hasn't slept for days, his eyes hurt, his back hurt. His head ached, and his heart yelled for this pain to go away. How long has it been since he started to ignore Arthur? Ignore the outside? When was the last time he actually got out of his home? Was there a meeting he had to attend to?

He checked the messages on his phone, sighing lifelessly as the screen came up.** 9 NEW MESSAGES. 12 MISSED PHONE CALLS. **The messages and phone calls were from mostly Alfred, Antonio, and Matthew. Oh...Matthew, he'd forgot that the Canadian actually cared about him. However, none from Arthur Kirkland. Did the Brit really hate him that much to actually care?

Francis put his phone aside, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table. What was the point of eating? It's not like his appearance mattered, if he wasn't going out anywhere.-Wait...Style mattered. Style always mattered, it was the thing that drove him! ...No, it doesn't matter anymore. He lit the cigarette with the lighter beside the box, breathing in slowly and raggedly. It has been years since he last smoked... When did he start again? First, how? Why?

...The Frenchman got up to use the restroom, and he took note on his head imploding with dizziness. He stood a few moments to get used to the painful feeling, and walked to the bathroom.

In the mirror, he stared-a monster, a...cave-dweller. He was staring into the reflection of a skinny man, with a dirty, unshaved beard, eyes bloody red. His stomach caved in, his arms looked like a twigs, hair so uncombed and...unfashionable. When did this happen?

His ears felt like exploding, now that he started listening to his own voice. "A-ah..." It's not right! His voice was similar to a frog's! Is this what it meant when Arthur called him a frog?_ No! Don't think about him! He hates you and you, Francis Bonnefoy, has to leave him alone!_

_ Arthur Kirkland hates Francis Bonnefoy...but, Francis Bonnefoy loves Arthur Kirkland. I love Arthur, Arthur hates me. He will always hate me! I will love him forever! I will do whatever it takes for Arthur to love me! Arthur will love Francis...! No, he won't._

The voices kept trailing him to clueless insanity. His head ached, sore and dead. His eyes made him look even more insane in the mirror. He was scared, terrified. Francis stroked the mirror in horror, and slowly pulled back to a distance. He curled his fingers in shaky fury and punched the mirror with whatever strength he had left.

And there on, his vision blurred, and went black.

_ He will never love you..._


	2. Do I really need you?

_ There was something ugly in the mirror. It looked like it had been on dieting pills without makeup, cursed with a potion that a witch had put in. No, it was only Francis Bonnefoy. He was the ugly thing in the mirror-ugly and unfashionable._

Francis quickly opened his eyes, terrified of what had just happened. Was he really...different? He became uglier...? "Non... It was only a dream."

Now that he wasn't in a dream, he felt his hands around for his phone, except his little bedside table wasn't there. And there was a new window beside his bed, with light barely coming through the curtain. He rapidly sat up in bed, feeling a sharp pain in his stomach. "...Wh-where is this!?"

A nurse, who had heard the Frenchman's commotion, walked into his room, and whispered, "Monsieur Bonnefoy, please calm down. You are in the hospital, you just need to rest."

"Why do I need to rest? Aren't I perfectly fine?" He had lifted up his hands, slowly moving his pale, skinny fingers into balls of fists, and back out again. He was never this skinny, was he?

The nurse sighed, "You need to rest, Monsieur. You have been unconscious for several hours, almost twenty-four hours, and still not in good health. You have lost a dangerously large amount of weight, and we just have found out that you are diagnosed with depression. We just need you to rest and drink plenty of water."

"...Is it okay if you let me out? I think I can take care of myself, I'm a grown man."

"Just-...Just please stay here. I'll be here to assist you if you need anything," she said, finally leaving him, closing the door behind her.

Why was he here again? Why was he skinny all of a sudden? Was Francis going to die? He looked at his left hand again, observing it this time. There were stitches along them. The mirror, he really had punched the ugly..._frog_ in the mirror. And now that he went over the conversation with the nurse to himself, he really _did_ sound like a frog-constantly croaking and sick.

His phone was back home. There was no way now if he could tell if Arthur sent him a text or a voicemail. Maybe he was going to apologize, or maybe, Arthur was going to invite him to a tea party or a dance or-

_Lies. Arthur doesn't love you. You aren't good enough for him, Francis Bonnefoy. _"SHUT UP!" Francis yelled at himself, hiding under the blankets. Where was this voice coming from?

_I wouldn't lie to you, Francis Bonnefoy. You can't be with him, he is too good for you. He is too perfect for you, oui?_ "NON! NON, LEAVE ME ALONE!" It was only his second or third encounter with the voice, but it still scared him. He decided to pull the covers up to himself, over his head, making sure he covered every part of him._ He doesn't need you..._

"Bonnefoy is sick. He is currently hospitalized and recovering from weight loss, fatigue, and depression. That's all I have been told. Is anyone willing to write notes down for him in his temporary absence?" Ludwig said calmly, eyeing each of the other persons participating in these meetings.

After a while when nobody offered, the Spaniard raised his hand with a soft voice, "I will." If no one else was going to do it, he might as well for generosity.

There were murmurs in the room after Antonio had offered, mumbling from Lovino talking about how the Spaniard was a kiss-up, and more conversation from the others about Francis. Arthur sighed and leaned back onto his chair, "What's the point of writing down anything if all we do is argue, anyway?"

But it was quieter. He wasn't hearing his own voice arguing against Francis. It was more just peaceful whispering that was similar to when you talk during class. Just murmurs of different conversations and gossip on the other nations. Arguments from the French and English were absent, and they all negotiated an agreement for the first time in a long while.

Also, the German's face had actually ended in a calm manner, instead of a red face of anger like it usually ended up. "Well, men. We've actually accomplished something today. I... Good job, everyone, go home and rest," was all he said before leaving the meeting room with his items.

Arthur walked out of the room alone, since Alfred decided that he would follow Yong Soo to have a drink. To the Brit, something just seemed off. "Ah... Today was awfully quiet, actually. I need my voice to do something for the rest of the day," he sighed to himself as he walked toward his car. "I guess I'll be nice today."

"Monsieur Bonnefoy has been tranquilized, Doctor Lange. He seems to be mentally weak. Should we continue to let him rest?"

"Oui. As soon as he wakes up, we should try feeding him and giving him medications. He's probably still in shock."

That was all Francis had heard before passing out. Everything had turned black, and slowly morphed into a dream. This time, a pleasant dream. This time, he was alone, but he was calm and his body was relaxed. His heart felt lighter and his body felt painless. Almost as if he was untouchable, like an angel.Independent and free, needless of any other person. _Independent and free, needless of any other person_, he thought to himself._ Independent and free, needless of any other person_, said the familiar voice,_ just like Arthur. _

The Frenchman cringed at the voice, at the name. "What a sick joke!"

Suddenly, the world seemed to break again, all around him wherever he looked. The sky broke into pieces, the ground shattered into two and revealed what seemed like hell. Fire and death. "_Life's a sick joke, Francis Bonnefoy_," said the voice. It seemed to let out a chuckle before the world seemed to be blurry again. _"Remember Jeanne? Or did you already forget her? She was independent and free, remember? She was needless of any other person, too. She lead the whole war, without you, Bonnefoy. Remember? She didn't need you, and you knew it. She's gone now. You did that to her. I wonder if you would do the same to Arthur? You loved Jeanne...didn't you?_"

Francis was starting to stir awake again, into the cruel reality of life. His vision was blurry, and so was his memory. "Ah, my head...damn..." he sighed to himself, as he thought that he had a hangover. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, he saw a silhouette of a person. Not the nurse, no, definitely not her. But it wasn't the doctor either, for the doctor's hair was a dark color.

Someone familiar, someone who made Francis' heart race. Someone who angered him, yet managed to want to embrace him at the same time. "...Oh, no... Why...?" he moaned aloud, gripping his chest above his heart. "Why...are you here...Kirkland?"

"Well, why can't I be? I have every right to be here, just like you," the Brit replied, though somewhat quieter. "I came to visit you, since you were...you know, ill."

"I didn't ask for visitors, and I'm not ill, I'm perfectly fine. So leave me alone," said Francis harshly. He sounded even harsher than the Brit when he's grumpy.

"Well, some visitors wouldn't harm you, Francis. Plus, I haven't seen you in weeks, you don't think that I was wor-You don't think that any of us were worried about you? I thought you were off vacationing or goofing around with other women, but no! I come back to see you in about four and a half weeks, and you look like you've lost at least nine to thirteen kilograms! You also reek of cigarettes, and you haven't smoked one in about fifteen years! What were you thinking?"

Francis was shocked on how Arthur had just said this to him. He was actually observing him, and he know how long he had quit smoking. How odd for an adversary. "It's not like you would care, non? You should just go take care of yourself, because me, I'll be fine." What was he saying? He didn't want him to leave, of course not! What does he do? In frustration, Francis made two fists, but felt a sudden pain on his left hand. The stitches on his knuckles tore apart, and he hissed, "...Ah, ah..."

"Calm down, I've brought you flowers," sighed the Brit as he observed the Frenchman's hand. He laid the flowers in the vase on the bedside table. "What happened to your hand, Frog Prince?"

"Nothing you need to know about," Francis croaked, staring at his hand. He was probably going to need the nurse, but it didn't matter to him. He was acting so harsh, but he only wanted Arthur to stay, he wanted to embrace Arthur. But that voice...that haunting voice will only come back.

"I'll be going. I see my company isn't wanted here," the man said as he stood up and grabbed his coat. "Rest well, and you better go to a meeting soon."

Francis coughed and his left hand reached to grab Arthur's wrist. It was just instinct. "Stay. I don't like being so lonely," was his only excuse, as if the words just flowed right out of him.

_Let him go._


End file.
